


After Tomorrow

by artattemptswriting



Category: American Revolution RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6377935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artattemptswriting/pseuds/artattemptswriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the night before John and Alexander have to part ways. They both know that, whatever happens afterwards, their world will never be the same. </p><p>Also known as the one in which I overload on the bittersweetness while Laurens and Hamilton make the most of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost one AM and Storm Katie is blowing in. What do I do? Well, write up some good ole Laurens/Hamilton which I drafted during a Science lesson, of course! I've never written for Hamilton before, so... do, please, tell me if you spot anything horrifically wrong. Enjoy

Hamilton is afraid. 

There he lies in the deepening dusk, listening to the breathing of the volunteer soldiers lucky enough to sleep, and he cannot push away the mounting terror that his time- time for living; time for loving- might well run out. Not far away, he can see Lafayette's sleeping figure in the half-light, no more than a hulking shape bundled tightly. A tuft of frizzy hair pokes out the top, unusually unkempt, and Alexander very nearly catches himself smiling. How can the Frenchman sleep so soundly? Others lie awake, the whites of their eyes flashing occasionally beyond the circle of ruddy firelight in which Hamilton is; the eeriness of the situation only adds to the nerves that clamour in his heart. Not one man speaks. It is a graveyard already. 

Searching on now, he silently turns his gaze back to the crackling fire, and finds Laurens sitting huddled beside it. Mere feet away, wrapped in a blanket, the waves of melancholic concentration form a palpable barrier around the other: his eyes are trained on the dancing embers, and Hamilton does not have it in his heart to speak first. Crickets whirr in the undergrowth. An owl wails, and Laurens looks up sharply, his eyes meeting Alexander's. 

"I know you're awake," he says softly, and the smirk is only in his voice, but for Alexander, that is all he needs. Slowly, eager not to disturb Lafayette, he creeps over and sits next to Laurens, dragging his whole sleeping roll with him. It is almost as if he can feel the warmth radiating off Laurens, despite his layers inside which, he is still a victim of the chill evening air. 

"It's cold," he remarks, and Laurens smiles. No more needs to be said; this is just another comfortable, familiar pattern between them: Hamilton is always cold, and Laurens is always warm. Beyond the circle of firelight the chorus of the night plays on, soldiers snoring, but inside it everything is still and peaceful. After tomorrow, will anything ever be as calm again? Hamilton has never heard the cry of a bayonet first-hand, has never stumbled out onto a battlefield where men are relying on him, but he knows deep down, with a souring of his bowels and prickle of cold sweat on his palms, that it will tear his world apart. Lafayette has spoken of the violence on the streets of France, and Hamilton has seen the ghosts haunting the Frenchman's harrowed eyes. 

"Do you want to get away?" Laurens asks, and Hamilton is grateful for the distraction. The elbow that gently nudges his side pulls him back from the brink of panic, and Laurens' hand so close to his becomes an anchor. Their eyes meet. 

"Not too far," Hamilton manages a small smile, but anxiety holds it close to his tight lips; it doesn't quite grace his eyes. 

"Firewood?" Laurens raises his eyebrows.

"Firewood," Hamilton confirms.

Laurens gets up, moving through the clearing and Hamilton follows close behind into the thickening trees. Between rustling branches, cool darkness envelopes their shady figures, and then Laurens' hand is warm against his cheek. Hamilton can no longer see the clearing where the army is camped, and so he allows himself to relax back against a tree. Their faces are mere millimetres apart, foreheads touching; then their lips are together in a chaste kiss.

"We need to talk," Laurens sighs, and Hamilton shudders as he feels the other's breath against his. 

"Are you sure you only want to talk?"

"Just talk. Eliza is pregnant- your wife, Alexander- and tomorrow, you ride for Yorktown, and I for Carolina. How are you?"

"Fine," Hamilton's eyes skitter to one side, his chin only stopped from turning by Laurens' slender fingers. Laurens can feel the tremble in Hamilton's bottom lip, and the catch in his breathing. 

"You can be scared," he says soothingly, one arm sliding around Hamilton's waist. They draw nearer to each other by some unspoken force of solidarity, each man gripping handfull's of the other's coat. 

"We made a toast to the four of us, but there won't be four of us. One-one of us won't come back, I can feel it," now he is speaking into Lauren's chest, voice muffled; his whole frame is quivering, and it breaks Laurens' heart. "We're going to be in all different places, apart, helpless if anything goes wrong,"

"You wanted this revolution. You want this fight, Alexander," 

"I did, and then I met you. It became complicated-- a-after tomorrow, we will be apart, you and I. We can write, but is that good enough?"

"Yes, it is. That is enough for me, you know that," Laurens takes Hamilton by his shoulders, prising him away until he can look into his eyes. Hamilton's watery gaze strikes right through to his heart, his soul; his fizzing, fluttering core. In all their tentative flirting, they have never allowed themselves to get quite so close. Hamilton's mouth opens to form a reply, but for once he has no words to come out. Nothing needs be said. 

When their lips come together again, there is something final about it. Hamilton tastes salt in the kiss, and cannot tell whether they are his tears or Laurens; he has no idea whether the sobs are rising through his heaving chest, or if they are coming from his lover. Lover... what a word, such a perfect name for the two of them; it is something sweet, something forbidden. A world away from him and Eliza, who are passionate and fiery and of a different brand of romance. 

There is passion here, on this dark night; that, for certain, Hamilton will learn. Who removes the first item of clothing? Neither can tell. At what point does Laurens trail burning fingers over Hamilton's hips, before lifting him up against the tree? Looking back, Hamilton can never remember. 

Hamilton presses his forehead to Laurens', looking into his eyes. A sweet moment passes, where all that can be heard is their mixed breathing, and the soft gasp that escapes Alexander; they are joined as one, hips and hearts crashing in the silky darkness around them. Laurens meets Hamilton's lips with his own, kissing away his tears, holding him as they rock. This is their first and their last. Tonight, they are one and the same. Tomorrow, they will be torn away- but for tonight, they can live the fantasy: nothing else matters. Mingling breaths, burning fingertips, gentle caresses, sweet gasps and sweeter moans. These are the only things Hamilton cares about. Why can't they last forever? All that's good must end, and all that's good can crash and burn as far as Hamilton is concerned, but not this... 

John's mouth pressed into the side of his neck. He is smiling. Alexander knows he is smiling, as is he. Perfect harmony, synchronized, heartbeat for heartbeat. A deep sound shaking him to his core, stars in front of his eyes; bursting into a thousand fractals and--

Release. As one, together, sighing and shaking, uncontrollable as they ride out the ending together; and then they are lying together on the ground, tangled up in their clothes and each other. After tomorrow, this can never be spoken of to anyone- who would possibly understand? This is not a world yet ready for two men in love, and the pain of it shakes through Hamilton. He traces circles in Laurens' skin, and Laurens caresses his. Every inch of each other, hands roaming, because this is all the time they have together. Slivers of the silver moon cast dappled light across their bodies, and Hamilton sees a constellation in Laurens' eyes. He whispers this, and it makes Laurens laugh; it makes him glow with happiness. 

At last they sleep, close together, and when dawn turns the world a pale dust-rose, Laurens is already riding away; Hamilton's touch on his cheek a distant memory. Hamilton hears the snorting of the horses, the clamour of men- his men- gathering together, and the laughter of soldiers who know to live in the moment. There is already a yawning chasm in his chest, neatly nestled in beside the place for Eliza, gaping wide as it yearns for Laurens. The chasm screams, but it's edges do not become raw for many more months; the letter from Laurens' father comes, the message clear and cold and jarring. 

After tomorrow, Hamilton had whispered to Laurens, and he had been right.


End file.
